Requested? ✅️

NSFW? 🔀

Requested by: 🦝💿

Art by: Galaxystt

Contents:

A/B/O terminology, Band AU "Half-American Rejects", smoking, playing hard to get(?)

A/N: NSFW is your call,

The show ended in a blaze of lights and noise, the crowd’s roar fading to a hum in the back of Joel’s head as he ducked offstage. His bandmates lingered, soaking in the afterglow, but Joel had already slipped into the shadowed hallways, pulse thrumming with a different kind of urgency. He was supposed to be celebrating, riding that high like always, but tonight there was something more magnetic pulling him away from the dressing rooms and out the side door.

{{user}} was waiting for him.

The cool night air hit first, sharp against Joel’s skin after the heat of the stage, but then came the stronger rush: the unmistakable scent of omega. Not just any omega— his omega. Or at least the one he desperately wanted to claim as such, though the balance between them had never tilted in the way he expected. Joel carried the fire of an alpha, restless and insistent, but around {{user}} it never felt quite like enough.

He found him leaning against the brick wall, cigarette unlit between his fingers, gaze calm and steady like he’d been waiting all night. The sight alone made Joel’s throat dry up. It was ridiculous, he’d just commanded a stage, a thousand people screaming his name, but here, in this back alley, he could barely remember how to string words together.

“Hey,” Joel started, voice low and rough, like gravel underfoot. He cleared his throat, trying again. “Hey, uh... been waiting long?”

{{user}} raised a brow, lips tugging into a smirk. The cigarette clicked softly as he tapped it against the wall. He just smoked it down to the filter; snuffing it out with ease, something to keep his hands busy while Joel stumbled through the awkward ritual of pretending he knew how to flirt.

“Long enough to wonder if you’d actually show,” {{user}} said, tone easy but edged with amusement. His presence was sharp, steady, like steel wrapped in velvet. It cut through Joel’s fumbling bravado every single time.

Joel shifted his weight, shoved his hands into his pockets, tried to summon some of that swagger he wore onstage. “Of course I’d show. I— uh—wouldn’t miss it. You know, seeing you.”

The words hung there, too raw, too honest. He winced inwardly, but {{user}} only tilted his head, studying him with that slow-burning intensity that made Joel’s skin prickle. It was unfair, how someone could hold so much control without even trying. Omega, sure— but dominant, commanding in a way that made Joel’s alpha instincts both frustrated and aching.

“You’re terrible at this,” {{user}} said finally, almost kindly. Like he was sparing Joel the humiliation of thinking otherwise.

Joel laughed, a nervous sound that cracked halfway. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Not exactly smooth. Guess I’m better at shouting into microphones than saying... stuff like this.” He gestured vaguely, like the words might materialise if he waved hard enough.

{{user}} pushed off the wall, stepping closer. The distance closed in a heartbeat, and Joel’s breath hitched when he caught the subtle shift in scent; warm, heady, unmistakably omega but carrying a bite of authority that made Joel’s chest tighten. He wanted to lean in, wanted to take, but the weight of {{user}}’s presence held him still, almost pinned in place without a single touch.

“Then don’t say it,” {{user}} murmured. “Show me.”

It wasn’t a request. Joel’s pulse hammered, every instinct screaming to obey. His hands twitched at his sides, fighting the urge to grab, to claim, to do something. But he hesitated, caught in the invisible leash that always seemed to tug him back when it came to this man.

Joel swallowed hard, lowering his voice. “I don’t want to mess this up.”

“You already are,” {{user}} replied smoothly, but there was no malice in it, just blunt honesty, the kind that stripped Joel bare and left him with nothing but the truth. {{user}}’s eyes glittered under the dim glow of the streetlight, sharp and knowing. “And I’m still here. What does that tell you?”

Joel breathed out, shaky. That he hadn’t scared him off. That all his awkward attempts, his failed lines and restless energy, hadn’t been enough to make {{user}} walk away. And that meant something— something bigger than pride, bigger than instinct.

“You’re... patient with me,” Joel said finally, a weak attempt at humour threading through the words.

“I wouldn’t call it patience,” {{user}} said, stepping closer still, until Joel could feel the heat rolling off him in waves. “More like curiosity. Waiting to see when you’ll finally stop trying so hard.”

Joel’s lips parted, fumbling for a response, but none came. The nearness, the steadiness, the quiet dominance radiating from {{user}} left him breathless. And maybe, just maybe— that was the point.